When September Ends
by sherlockhastheTARDIS
Summary: Eighteen year old Jim Moriarty is bullied and has an abusive father. Sebastian Moran is a new English teacher at Jim's school. Mormor, young!Jim teacher!Seb AU, triggers: child abuse, bullying, self injury.
1. Introductions

**A/N: I'm still kind of nervous about this story, because it's AU and young!Jim. Granted it gives me a bit more freedom in terms of character, but it's still hard. Any constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms and cookies. Any reviews will be given cake, a gold star, and – if you're lucky – a velociraptor. Not to mention my love forever and ever.**

* * *

Eighteen-year-old Jim Moriarty sat in the back of his first period English class on the first day of his senior year. He stayed silent, headphones in, playing his favourite Rossini overture so loud that the person next to him could hear it. Well, they would have been able to hear it, had anyone been seated next to him. But nobody ever sat within a five desk radius, and Jim liked it that way.

The teacher walked in then; young, no more than twenty-five, well dressed, and hipster glasses. Jim would be lying if he said that this new teacher wasn't hot and very much his type.

The teacher set down his leather bag at his desk and stood with his hands on his hips, clearing his throat and looking expectantly at the classroom full of blazer-clad boys. "Much better," he said when they had all taken their seats and stopped whispering. Jim smirked to himself, genuinely impressed.

The young teacher looked around the room, surveying every student's face until his eyes fell on Jim. "You. Headphones, out," he commanded, making the motion of pulling out an earbud. "My Chemical Romance can wait until after class. Listen to my gorgeous voice for this hour, not Gerard Way's." Jim chuckled and took out his headphones, putting his phone away for now in his blazer pocket. "It was Rossini," he corrected before the teacher could move on. "Not My Chemical Romance. I don't listen to them."

The teacher seemed genuinely surprised and even a bit impressed. "My apologies," he said to Jim, holding his hands up as if in surrender before turning and addressing the class. "My name is Sebastian Moran, but you will all call me Mr. Moran unless you'd like to see if there's a life after this one. My default is to be as nice as possible unless you give me a reason not to be, in which case I can be very unpleasant indeed. You will do exactly what I ask of you, and don't try to give me excuses because I've already used them all before you." This earned him a chuckle from the class and a smile from Jim. So far, Mr. Moran was well on his way to doing what no other teacher had managed to do: earn Jim's respect. "Questions? No? Good. Now, who here has ever heard of The Great Gatsby?"

* * *

After class, Jim packed quickly and put his headphones back in, wanting desperately to avoid running into anyone in the corridor. He was almost at the door when Mr. Moran stopped him by standing in front of Jim and putting a hand on the Irish teen's chest. Jim flinched and took a step back, immediately pulling out his headphones on the swell of the violin.

"Was that really Rossini?" he asked, smiling softly down at Jim. Jim nodded silently and held out his phone for his teacher to see, and even offered an earbud so his teacher could hear. Mr. Moran listened and nodded, his smile widening a fraction.

"I'm impressed, James," he said, handing the earbud back.

"It's Jim," he instantly corrected, tugging at the sleeve of his itchy blazer. "Not James."

"Well then, Jim," Mr. Moran said, running a hand through his light hair. "I'm genuinely impressed. And you seem like you're a smart kid."

Jim just shrugged, glancing back at the door. "Can I go to my class now, sir?"

The teacher laughed, waving Jim off. "No Rossini or Bach or whatever tomorrow, okay?" he reminded, waving Jim off with a wink.

* * *

Jim managed to keep his head down and avoid any attention throughout the rest of the day, but his mind kept going back to English class, or more specifically, Sebastian Moran. The tiniest detail – from how his bright blue eyes were the exact opposite of Jim's, to how his cufflinks looked like little TARDISes – gave Jim butterflies. All of which was terrible. It was bad enough being the only gay kid at school, but to then have a crush on his probably straight and very much off-limits teacher? Horrid. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Carl Powers coming up behind him until he was shoved into the nearest wall.

"Jimmy the fag, welcome back," Carl sneered, pressing Jim's face up against the brick.

"Oh, always a pleasure, Bigfoot," Jim quipped, rolling his eyes. Carl's insults were so unoriginal and the beatings were so routing that he could predict the details of every one. Normally Carl would fire off another insult or two before letting the punches fly, but it was the first day back and he hadn't hit Jim all summer, so he didn't waste any time.

It started off simple enough, spinning Jim around and concentrating most of the hits on the Irish teen's stomach and a few on the shoulders, and gradually the shots got higher and higher until Carl decided he's had enough. "Great to see you again, Jimmy," he said cheerily, patting Jim on the shoulder and sauntering off to swim practise.

Jim stood there, fuming and glaring at Carl's retreating form. _One day, _he thought to himself. _Oh, I'll get you, Powers._ He waited a few minutes longer before getting up and starting his walk home.

* * *

Jim hated going home. And not in the way most eighteen-year-olds hated going home. Because most eighteen-year-olds didn't live with abusive, alcoholic fathers. So Jim dreaded the inevitable part of every day where he had to return home to the dick he called "Dad" and get the shit beaten out of him.

Jim took a breath and quietly opened the squeaky front door. When his father didn't immediately call out or appear from the kitchen, Jim allowed himself to hope that maybe he had already passed out or was at the pub around the corner, drinking with his mates. So he quickly went to go up the stairs to his room, and his heart fell when he saw his father at the top, beer in hand.

"Hiya, Dad," he mumbled, ducking his head.

His father lumbered down the steps and grabbed Jim's chin, jerking the boy's face up to look at him. "Have more respect when speaking to your elders, James," he slurred, his stale alcohol breath rolling off his lips and onto Jim's face.

Jim winced, but couldn't get out a response, as his jaw was being squeezed too tight. So his father took that as an excuse to hit him, and unlike Carl Powers, he could actually hit. Jim didn't know how his father managed to hit so forcefully and so accurately with a beer bottle in his other hand. All he knew was that at the end of it all he was lying at the foot of the stairs; blood on the cut made by his father's wedding ring slamming into his forehead, new bruises forming all over his pale skin, and a rib that felt close to cracking. He waited until he heard his father shuffle off in search of more alcohol before picking himself up and running to his room, closing and locking the door.

Jim's room was his safe place, the one place where he didn't have to pretend like everything was okay. So he sat on the floor with his back against the wall and thought over everything that had gone wrong that day, every bad thing he had felt, and what he could have done to deserve it all. He felt a single tear slide down his cheek and he sat up, reaching for the Swiss army knife he kept in the front pocket of his backpack and flicked open the blade. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal row upon row of cuts and scars in various stages of healing. He bit his lip and pressed the blade to an unmarked patch of skin, feeling the relief flood him as the blood slowly trickled out of the new wound. So he cut again, and again, and again, feeling better and better each time until he was emotionally drained.

He stood and went to the loo adjoined to his bedroom, rinsing the cuts and the blood stained blade in hydrogen peroxide. Cleaning up after himself and making sure that his cuts and knife were sterilised were the only ways he hadn't gotten caught yet, and hopefully never would.

He showered and changed into pyjamas immediately afterward and easily finished all of his assignments. He went to bed early, not wanting to risk going downstairs in search of food to quell his growling stomach in case his father was down there and decided to hit him again. So he fell into bed with his copy of The Great Gatsby, breezing through the first couple chapters, which they had been assigned as homework. He set the book down next to the photo of his Mam and him at the zoo in Dublin when he was four and looked at the photo for a few minutes, having to bite down on his lip to keep it from trembling. He reached up and flicked off the light before he could start crying, whispering a soft "Love you, Mam. Miss you," before falling asleep.


	2. Half Truths and Evasions

**A/N: Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I know I've been so long in posting anything, but I started school and I was just trying to adjust and all. I've finally gotten somewhat settled, so I should be posting a bit more regularly again. Sorry!**

* * *

Jim groggily blinked against the sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window. He rolled over and slid out of bed, dressing sluggishly in his uniform and packing up his school bag. School had been going for a week and a half now, and Jim had already fallen into his routine: wake up, eat breakfast if it's safe, school, lunch, school, home, get hit, homework, sleep. In that order.

Mostly all of his classes were boring, save for Physics and English. Physics wasn't boring because it provided a slight challenge for him, and English wasn't boring because Mr. Moran somehow managed to make it interesting, despite Jim's idiot classmates. The books were good and the things Mr. Moran talked about actually made Jim _think._ Plus, Mr. Moran was big on creative writing, and Jim had an entire spiral notebook full of his writings that he always carried with him; everything from poems to short stories to mind ramblings that he was sure would get somewhere eventually, but he hadn't figured out how just yet.

Jim slipped out of his room and tip-toed in his socks to the stairs, hoping that his father was sleeping off a hangover or already drunk. But then as he took his first step down the stairs, his dad emerged from his bedroom, shuffling down the hallway.

"Trying to run away from me, Jimmy?" his dad slurred, grinning and coming up behind Jim. He grabbed the teen by his collar and Jim stiffened.

"No sir," Jim said, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping his back to his father. "Just going to school."

His dad grew immediately angry, pulling the teenager up and pushing him against the wall. The older man drew back his fit to hit his son, but was so intoxicated that his fist collided with the wall rather than the teenager's face. Grumbling with anger and frustration and shaking his hand, his dad opted instead to throw Jim down the stairs. Jim curled into a ball, holding his ribs and his bleeding mouth until his dad shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen, stepping over his bleeding child. Jim waited until he heard his father moving around plates and chairs to get up and run out the door to school.

* * *

When he made it to school, his lip was still bleeding and class had already started, but his ribs no longer ached. He quietly slipped into English class, avoiding Mr. Moran's look and getting out his things. He smiled when the teacher – who often paced around the classroom during lectures – dropped a box of Kleenex on Jim's desk and kept walking, having seen the blood dripping down Jim's chin from his lips.

Class went on normally, with many eye rolls from Jim at idiotic comments by his classmates, and exasperated sighs from his teacher at the same comments on occasion. When the bell rang, Jim stood and got up, packing quickly and hoping to leave without getting Mr. Moran's attention. But as he got to the door he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around to see his teacher raising an eyebrow at him.

"How's the lip?" he asked, motioning to the bad cut on Jim's no longer bleeding lip.

Jim shrugged, running his tongue over it to try and get off the dried blood. "Fine. Why?"

"Because it was bleeding, Jim," his teacher said. Jim had expected him to laugh, but Mr. Moran just looked genuinely concerned. "What happened? Did you get in a fight or something?"

Jim just shrugged again, knowing full well that he couldn't – nor did he want to – get into the discussion of how his father beat him. Because if he did then his Dad would be sent to jail and Jim would be put into foster care, and then gone were his dreams of Oxford. So he kept his mouth shut about that and instead said, "Fell down the stairs." Which was partially true.

Mr. Moran narrowed his eyes and looked at him carefully, then sighed. "Fine, you don't want to talk about it, I get it," he said, turning around and going back to his desk. "But when you do feel like it, I'm here, okay?" He scribbled something down on a piece of notebook paper and then walked back to Jim, handing it to the Irish teen.

"Your phone number?" Jim said, raising an eyebrow at his teacher.

Now it was Mr. Moran's turn to shrug. "I probably shouldn't, but it's not like I'm saying you should come over for dinner. It's just if you have an emergency or something, okay?"

Jim nodded, suppressing a slight smile and putting the slip of paper in his pocket. "Thanks. But I'm late for physics," he said, turning and leaving.

* * *

Jim was walking home next to the river, headphones in and whistling to himself. He was distracted and unfocussed, feeling oddly happy for the first time in a while. But that meant that he didn't notice Carl Powers come up behind him and yank his bag off his shoulders.

"Oi!" he shouted, pulling out his headphones and reaching for his bag. Carl laughed and pulled it just out of his reach, his long arms and broad shoulders making it impossible that Jim would ever get it. So Jim just stood there while Carl opened it and looked at the contents.

"Hmm.. Physics, Latin, no.. Oh! I know! English," he said, grinning and taking out Jim's copy of the Great Gatsby. Jim clenched his jaw and took a step forward, but by the time he made a grab for it Carl had thrown the book into the river.

Furious, Jim lunged at Carl and gave him a well-placed knee to the groin. That left Carl on the floor, moaning in pain. Jim grabbed his bag back and started running towards his house. He followed the bend of the river and saw his book on the pebbled shoreline. He bent down to grab it and flipped through the pages, only to find it completely destroyed. Sighing, he kept it in his hand as he walked the rest of the way home.


	3. Something Like Toy Story

**A/N: A warning: this chapter has some pretty bad gay bashing by Powers. Clearly I don't approve of it, but it is in there, so anyone who will be bothered by it just don't read this chapter, I guess.**

* * *

Jim managed to get through class the next day with his ruined book, looking over at Carl Powers on occasion and almost smiling when the bully's smug smirk vanished at the sight of Jim's glare. But Jim knew that there was no way he could keep working with his copy, even though he had already read The Great Gatsby more than once. He couldn't afford to buy himself a new copy - hell, he could barely afford to buy himself lunch - his dad didn't care enough to bother buying him one, and using his Mam's old copy was out of the question. So he waited until class was over and went up to his teacher's desk, setting the soaked through copy in front of him.

"It fell in the river on my way home from school," Jim said, leaving out the details about Powers and it being thrown off the bridge.

Mr. Moran picked up the book and smirked slightly. "That's funny, because I heard Carl Powers bragging to his mates about how he threw it in and then you kneed him in the crotch, Jim," his teacher countered, looking up at Jim and... was that a wink? No, it couldn't have been. Teachers never wink at their students.

Jim smiled, shrugging. "Powers lies a lot. But the point is my book is ruined and I can't get another copy," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to explain why he couldn't get a new book.

Mr. Moran looked at him carefully and thumbed through the pages of the book before opening his desk draw and pulling out a copy. "This is the one I used in high school. Didn't write anything in it, so it's clean. And yours," he said, giving the book to Jim and putting Jim's copy in his draw.

"I... Thanks. A lot," Jim managed, leafing through the book before nodding and slipping it into his bag. "Really."

He left and ran through the corridor to his upper-level Physics class, sliding into his seat right as the bell rang. He didn't bother listening to the lecture; he hardly ever did, as the teacher was rubbish at explaining things and it was so simple to use the textbook to teach himself. So he sat in his desk and flipped through the copy of the Great Gatsby Mr. Moran had given him, smiling a bit. Mr. Moran had lied when he said the copy was clean, there were spots where he had scribbled notes in the margins, or even written angry swears directed at the characters.

Jim couldn't help but smile wider at seeing his teacher's teenage thoughts on certain characters, and knowing that the man would grow up to teach the very same book. He flipped through quickly and took out an old spiral notebook where he kept his creative writing; things ranging from poems to short stories to unfinished novel beginnings and even the occasional piece of aimless mind rambling. Today was a mind rambling sort of day. So he sat in his desk and wrote while his teacher lectured on the properties of quarks.

* * *

Jim walked through the busy corridor full of lockers and shouting students, quickly getting what he needed and leaving. He made it into the corridor where his English and Physics classes were and saw Carl leaving Mr. Moran's classroom. He ducked his head and started to walk faster, freezing when he heard Carl shout. "Oi! Faggot!"

"How can I help you, Bigfoot? If you're looking for a boyfriend the answer is a definite no," he quipped, smirking to himself. His smirk vanished when Carl shoved him against the cold brick wall, his head making a loud _smack_ on impact.

"You think I'm a fag, gayface?" Carl growled, pushing Jim further and further into the wall. "You got a little crush on me? Do I look gay to you?!"

Jim had opened his mouth to say something but was immediately silenced by Carl's fist slamming into his jaw. "I'm nothing like you, alright?" Carl shouted, accentuating that statement with another punch. "Nothing," punch, "like," punch, "you!" Jim coughed, some blood spitting out and landing on Carl's face. The swimmer looked like he was going to pull back for another punch when someone grabbed his fist.

"Headmaster's office, Powers. _Now_," he commanded, letting go of the bully's fist. "Go. I'll meet you there in a minute."

Carl glared at both Mr. Moran and Jim before picking up his backpack. "Welcome to hell, fag," he mumbled to Jim.

"Oh, I'm familiar with it," the Irish teen quipped, dabbing the blood off his mouth with his blazer sleeve. He watched the taller teenager stalk off towards the Headmaster's office for a moment before bending down to pick up his dropped bag and phone.

"Oi, you're not leaving," Mr. Moran said in a softer tone. He reached out a hand, presumably to put a hand on Jim's shoulder, but the teenager flinched so he dropped it. "This happens a lot, then?" When Jim didn't respond and obviously wasn't going to, his teacher sighed and tried again. "Is he the one that gave you the split lip yesterday?" This time Jim chuckled slightly and shook his head.

"I'm fine, Mr. Moran. I can handle this," he said, picking up his bag at last and standing straight. "Thanks for caring, though, really."

His teacher sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Sure, Jim. Sure. You've got my number, so if whatever _did_ give you that split lip comes back, call, okay?"

Jim nodded, smiling slightly at his teacher and walking back down the corridor. "Thanks for the book," he called as he left.

* * *

Going home would be too dangerous, Jim decided, as his father always got furious when he saw any injury on the Irish teen that hadn't been caused by his own hands. So he went to the library instead, sitting in a room in the far back and doing his homework. He loved going to the library; nobody bothered him, he could read all the books he wanted without hearing shouting or getting dirty looks. The library was a safe place.

Jim didn't leave the library until all of his homework was done and he was starting to get hungry, and even then he didn't go home, but rather to a cafe a few blocks away. He ordered himself a sandwich and a cup of tea, and was sitting by himself reading Looking for Alaska when someone familiar walked in the door.

"Jim?" his teacher asked, eyebrows furrowing. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home?"

Jim just shrugged, setting down the book he was reading. "I got hungry. Shouldn't you be grading papers, Mr. Moran?" he countered, smirking and motioning for his teacher to join him.

Mr. Moran laughed and did just that, sitting across from the shorter boy. "Touche. And call me Sebastian outside of school, Mr. Moran makes me feel old," he said, instantly holding up a hand when Jim opened his mouth to say something witty. "Don't even think about it, smart arse."

Jim chuckled, holding up his hands and leaning back in his chair. "Yes sir, _Sebastian_," he said, his smirk turning into a rare, genuine smile. The waitress came by and gave Jim his tea, immediately turning and focussing all of her attention on Jim's teacher. She took his order, laughing and flirting the whole time, but Jim couldn't tell if his teacher was flirting with her as well. He was being nice, of course, and laughing at her jokes, but there was none of the banter that Jim usually noticed with people flirting. The waitress left and hurriedly came back with Mr. Moran's coffee, smiling and batting her eyelashes, making Jim wrinkle his nose in discomfort.

"Well that was a bit much," Mr. Moran said when she had left, sipping his coffee.

Jim furrowed his eyebrows at his teacher. "Why? She obviously likes you. And wouldn't most men think she's fit? I mean, I wouldn't know," he said, trailing off towards the end.

Mr. Moran chuckled and set down his coffee, drumming his fingers softly on the table. "Yeah, I suppose most straight men would. But I wouldn't know," he said casually, watching to see Jim's reaction. "How's your lip doing, by the way?"

_Oh, so he's gay? Or bi... No, definitely gay; had he been bi he would have said something about thinking she's fit or not. So he's gay. Well that explains how mad he got in the corridor with Carl, then._ "Better, thanks," Jim said, showing none of his thought process in his expression.

"Still not going to tell me who did it yesterday?" the older man pressed, his eyes showing his genuine concern.

Jim shook his head, eyes going down to his tea. "I told you, I'm fine. Carl's a dick, but I've got it sorted," he said, keeping his eyes downcast.

Mr. Moran sighed, lowering his voice. "Look, Jim... I heard what he was saying to you, okay?" he said, keeping his eyes on Jim's expression. "I don't know if it's true or if it isn't-"

"That I'm gay?" Jim interrupted, looking up at his teacher and chuckling. "Yeah, I am. I thought everyone knew, that someone had put up flyers or something."

"Well, I didn't know, and I haven't seen any flyers," Mr. Moran said, smiling slightly. "But look, it's fine, okay? Carl is just.. Well, like you said, he's a dick. So not everyone's going to hate you the way he does, I promise. Besides, you've got a friend in me."

That reassurance actually made Jim smile. "Like Toy Story?" he asked. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was scared about what it would be like once he was in uni. He was worried that the whole world would be full of people like Carl, and that he'd be lonely like this forever.

Mr. Moran laughed and nodded, smiling and sipping his coffee. "Yeah. Something like Toy Story," he said, sitting back in his chair.


	4. Nobody's Fault

**A/N: Ugh. Jim's dad makes me sick. Warning for some pretty nasty shit in this chapter, and if abuse - especially homophobic - is triggering then definitely don't read this.**

**It also recently occurred to me that I might want to post some stuff on here about how to get help if you're going through stuff. So, here's some:**

**Teen Line (US): (310)-855-4673 or (800)-852-8336**

**Samaritans (UK and Ireland): 08457 90 90 90 or 1850 60 90 90**

**And I'm always here if anyone needs anything. *hugs***

* * *

It was midnight when Jim finally made it home, having stayed with Sebastian at the cafe, chatting until it closed. He slipped off his shoes and padded quietly across the squeaky hardwood floors, conviced his dad was asleep. When he had reached the stairs he saw the light coming from the television in the living room and stopped for a moment. Against his better judgement, he set his shoes down and went over to look.

His dad was spread out on the sofa, a glass of water in his hand. He was staring with glassy eyes at the television screen, clearly not paying attention to the Viagra commercial that was playing. "You're in late," he commented, still not shifting his gaze. "Where were you?"

"The library," Jim said, tensing and glancing back at the door. It wasn't that far of a run to the stairs, he could make it if things got bad. "Why?"

"Do you know what day it is, James?" his dad asked, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

Jim froze, clenching his jaw. "Twenty seventh of September," he managed at last. "And yes, I know exactly what that means, Dad. Hell, I was holding her hand, how could I not? But it's been twelve years. Let her go."

His dad scoffed and sipped his water before setting it down on the coffee table. "Normal people can't forget a thing like that, James," he said, his voice in a monotone. "Maybe you can, but you're a freak and it was your damn fault."

At that comment Jim grew furious, feeling like something inside of him had snapped. He stepped around so that he was blocking his dad's view of the television, glaring at him. "It wasn't my fault and you know that as well as I do!" he shouted, tears welling up in his eyes, not caring about the risk and potential consequences of standing up to his dad. "I was _six_, Dad! _Six fucking years old_. And she had _cancer! _And cancer is nobody's. Fucking. Fault!"

With that he ran out of the room and up the stairs, grabbing his shoes on the way up and slamming the door to his room, locking the door behind him. He made it over to his bed and pressed his face into the pillow as the tears he had been fighting began to fall and the sobs wracked his chest.

"I'm sorry, Mam," he choked out between sobs. "I'm so sorry. But I wasn't my fault, I promise. It.. It wasn't."

* * *

Three weeks passed without a word from both his dad and Powers, and Jim had actually allowed himself the slight hope that maybe - just maybe - his life was getting better. He hadn't cut, and it had been a week since his last nightmare. He had only run into Sebastian once more, at the library, and talked to him once or twice at school. Things were going well for once, until he came home from school one day to find his dad waiting by the door.

"I got a call from one of your friends today, James," his dad said. He was completely sober, which always terrified Jim to no end.

"Which one?" Jim asked casually, though his hand still kept a tight grip on the door handle.

His dad took a step closer, glaring at the nearly shaking child. "Carl Powers," he said, watching to see if Jim had a reaction.

Jim could have sworn that his stomach knotted itself and his heart was in his mouth, but he managed not to show that on his face. "And how is he?"

"Don't you play games with me, James," his father snapped, stepping so close that Jim could feel his breath. "Do you have something to tell me, boy? Something important that you should share with your father?"

Jim swallowed thickly and straightened up, looking his dad in the eye. "Not a thing, sir."

Hi dad grabbed him by the throat, pulling him up off his feet. "I said don't play games with me, James!" he shouted, a vein in his neck bulging.

"I told you, Dad! I'm not hiding anything!" Jim said, panic leaking into his voice. "Put me down, please!"

"You're a liar!" his dad shouted, slamming Jim back against the door. "A filthy lying faggot!"

Jim froze, his eyes wide. "W-What?" he stammered, starting to shake.

His dad smirked, setting Jim down on the floor. "Oh, I knew it," he growled, eyes alight with anger. "I've thought for so long.. and then your little friend called today saying you had tried something on him at school and I knew it was true."

Jim's hand immediately went for the door handle and he flung the door open, running out of the house with his dad chasing after him. He grabbed his son and threw him down on the pavement outside their house, not caring who saw, and knowing nobody would care even if they were watching. "I knew it!" he shouted, kicking Jim square in the ribs. "You filthy," kick, "buggering," kick, "faggot! I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

Desperate to get away and knowing that his dad would kill him if he didn't, Jim ran. He ran down the street and onto the main road, running until his lungs felt like they were on fire and he didn't even know where he was, much less if his dad was still behind him. He paused for breath, looking around and seeing that his dad wasn't following and that people were staring at him like he was a ghost. It was then that he noticed the blood tricking down his temple from his hairline and that the pain in his lungs wasn't from running but from a rib. He was out of options and he knew it. So he smiled at the people like nothing was wrong and turned the corner into an alley, pulling his phone out of his bag.

He dialled the number, praying to a god that he didn't believe existed that by some miracle his teacher would pick up. "Hello?" he heard after three rings. Jim bit his lip for a moment before speaking.

"Hey.. Mr.- Umm, Sebastian. Seb," he stammered, feeling awkward and dizzy. "Look, you said to call if there was an emergency? If the thing that gave me the split lip came back?"

There was a pause and them Jim heard a scrape, like his teacher was getting out of a chair, confirmed by the sound of a coat rustling and keys jangling. "Where are you?" Sebastian asked. "And how bad are you hurt?"

"I'm... two blocks from school. East," he said, glancing around before looking down to assess his injuries. No use in lying. "Pretty bad."

He heard his teacher sigh and a car door shut. "Be there in five minutes. Don't move, okay?"

"Thanks," Jim mumbled, resting his head on the brick and wincing when he hit what must be the source of the blood.

* * *

Sebastian kept his promise, pulling up and getting out not seven minutes later. He looked around the street for a moment before he saw Jim, still leaning against the brick wall and nervously watching the street. He stood up straight and managed a smile at his teacher, one hand across his ribs. "Hey," he mumbled, stumbling slightly on the uneven pavement.

"Jesus...," Sebastian said under his breath, helping steady Jim. "You need to go to a hospital."

Jim's eyes widened and he shook his head, backing away from his teacher. "You can't take me there. No, you can't," he begged, panicking. "They'll ask too many questions, they'll try and make me go back. Please don't make me go."

Sebastian bit his lip and looked over Jim's wounds, eyes darting all over. "Fine," he conceded at last. "I've got some first aid supplies, and I know a guy that could help if it gets bad. It means going to my flat, but I think you're okay with that, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim mumbled, nodding and deflating out of relief. "Thank you, really."

Sebastian gave him a small smile, helping Jim walk over to his car and get into the passenger seat. "Any time, Jim," he said, getting in and starting the engine.


	5. Confessions and A Safe Place

"Care to tell me what happened?" Sebastian asked, coming into the room with a glass of water and a bag of ice. Jim was sitting cross-legged on the sofa in Sebastian's living room, holding a pillow to his chest and looking around. The flat was small, but well-kept; bookshelves completely full and papers littering the coffee table. What one would expect for the flat of an English teacher and bachelor.

Jim reached out a slightly shaking hand and took the glass, sipping it and pressing the ice to his head. "Not really," he said, looking down and studying the pattern of the pillow he was holding.

Sebastian raised one eyebrow but didn't say anything for a bit, sitting down in the chair next to the sofa and taking a swig of his Coke. "I've got a friend, he's a doctor. Could I... I think he should come and take a look at you. I won't tell him anything, if you don't want me to, but you need someone to make sure you're not dying and to patch you up," he said after a bit, holding his phone in his hands and looking over at Jim.

"Sure, I guess," Jim mumbled, picking at the loose threads of the pillow.

Sebastian nodded and sent the text to his friend. Not fifteen minutes later a short, sandy-haired man came into the flat with a medical bag.

"Jim, this is John," Sebastian said when he brought the other man into the room. John smiled and extended a hand, saying, "John Watson. Seb said you'd gotten yourself beat up pretty bad?"

Jim chuckled and nodded, still a bit wary of this new person. "Um.. Yeah. He wanted me to go to the hospital, but they terrify me," he lied, smiling.

John nodded, setting his bag down. "Understandable. But you're alright with me taking a look at you to make sure you're alright?"

Jim glanced over to Sebastian and, after seeing that his teacher clearly trusted this man, he nodded. Sebastian smiled softly and started to walk out of the room. "Give me a shout when he's done, Jim," he said, closing the door to what Jim had guessed was his room behind him.

* * *

Jim stayed silent throughout the whole physical, save for a few winces when John touched his head or broken rib. John explained everything he was doing, and told him that the rib was indeed broken and a few others were badly bruised, and that the cut on his head didn't require stitches. Jim was careful to only let him see his injuries, keeping his arms covered for fear of John telling Sebastian about the cuts there.

When Sebastian came back out John explained Jim's injuries to him and that the teenager should take regular doses of painkillers, and preferably not move more than he absolutely had to. Jim smiled and gave a friendly wave when Sebastian led his friend out, sighing and leaning back against the sofa.

"Still not talking?" Sebastian asked, getting Paramol from his bathroom cupboard.

Jim chuckled, shaking his head and taking the medicine when Sebastian brought it to him. "I told you, I've got it sorted," he said, swallowing the pill.

Sebastian didn't seem satisfied with that answer this time, raising an eyebrow as he sat down across from his student and folded his hands together. "Jim, look... I'm fine with letting you deal with Powers on your own, but this... I can't look the other way with this," he said, gesturing to Jim's head and torso. "Just tell me what's going on so we can figure something out. Yeah?"

Jim sighed, sitting in silence for several seconds while he thought things over. Normally he'd say fine, tell Sebastian and damn the consequences. But he had just sent in his application to Oxford, and he needed his Dad around to sign off on the acceptance. Or to at least pretend to. So he shook his head, looking down and biting his lip. "Look, I want to. But I can't," he said, keeping his gaze lowered. "If I'm ever getting out of here, I can't."

"Please, Jim?" Sebastian asked, quieter now. "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, but just tell me so you'll have a place to go if things get bad. Please?"

Jim took a breath and looked up. "Swear to god you won't tell?" he demanded.

Sebastian nodded without hesitation. "Swear on my mother's grave," he said.

Jim nodded, looking back down. "My Dad found out that I'm gay. He wasn't happy," he said calmly, no trace of any emotion in his voice. He had found in the past that things were easier to deal with if he didn't bring in emotions, and telling Sebastian only half of the truth was just another way to protect himself.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it. "And when you had the split lip?" he asked. "Jim, I told you, I won't tell anyone. Hell, if you really don't want to leave, I won't make you. I just... I know what it's like. Exactly what it's like."

That got Jim's attention. "Know what what's like?" he asked cautiously, still wary of trusting Sebastian with his secret.

"Getting hit. Regularly," Sebastian said, not showing any trace of emotion.

Jim swallowed and bit his lip. "You can't tell anyone," he warned. "I need him to pay for uni, and that's the only way I'm ever going to get out of here."

"I already promised you that I wouldn't tell," Sebastian reminded him with a sad smile. "You'll be safe if you stay with him?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted after thinking for a moment. "He's... Not happy right now. Said he should have killed me when he had the chance."

Sebastian swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. "That's... Jesus," he mumbled, sighing and looking back up at his student. "Alright. I can't say that I agree with you about needing to keep living with the bastard, but I won't stop you for now. But if you're even a little bit scared that he's going to try something, I want you to come here. Door's always open. Deal?"

Jim smiled softly and nodded, shaking the hand that Sebastian offered to him. "Deal."


	6. Family is Forever

**A/N: Update! I'm terribly, terribly sorry, but I lost all inspiration for this and just got it back a day or so ago. Hopefully I won't get writers block like that again.**

* * *

Jim fell asleep on Sebastian's sofa with the television on, exhausted both mentally and physically from the events of that day. He woke up a couple of hours later in a panic, forgetting where he was for a few moments. He looked around the room, remembering what had happened and why he was there. Sebastian must have put a blanket over him while he slept, but other than that everything was exactly the same. He sat up and stretched, listening for a moment. He heard papers rustling in the kitchen and followed the noise, figuring that Sebastian would be there.

His teacher was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of half-graded essays on his left and a mug of tea on his right. He looked up and smiled when Jim came in, and Jim noticed that he'd taken off the vest and tie he normally wore, as well as taken out his contacts and put on glasses. "Feel any better?" Sebastian asked. Jim shrugged and sat down picking at his fingernails.

"Rib hurts like hell," he admitted. "Nothing new, though." He paused and looked around before sighing and motioning at the stack of papers on Sebastian's desk. "My class'?"

Sebastian nodded, setting the one he was working on aside so his attention wasn't divided between it and Jim. "Yeah. So far, they're alright." He sighed and bit his lip, drumming his fingers on the table for a bit while he worked out how to say what was on his mind. "Look... Jim," he started slowly, pausing and running a hand through his hair. "Do you think you'll be safe if you go home?"

Jim nodded instantly. "Yeah, I'm sure of it," he lied, shrugging Sebastian's worries off. "Dad says stuff like that all the time, I'm sure he didn't mean any of it. And he only hits me when he gets drunk, so I'll just throw out all the booze in the house. Keeps me safe for a good week or so."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow and stared straight at Jim, clearly not buying it. "I hope you realise that none of that shit is going to work on me, Moriarty."

Jim huffed out a breath and slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Sebastian. "I'll be fine, alright?" he snapped. He hated that someone knew about this now, despite the fact that he'd been the one to tell Sebastian in the first place. "I can figure this out on my own."

"I'm not saying that you can't," Sebastian clarified. "I just wanted to make sure you'd be safe going back home."

Jim relaxed a bit, letting his arms slide down and quickly shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'll be fine," he insisted, his voice softer. "Thanks."

Sebastian nodded, sighing and leaning back in his chair. "Good. Just.. Come here if things ever look like they're going to get bad, okay?"

Jim nodded, looking down. "Yeah. Sure." He sighed and looked around the room again, his brown eyes darting around and looking at everything from the pattern of the linoleum to the pictures on the fridge. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing at one of Sebastian in an army uniform with his arm around a girl. Sebastian glanced up at the photograph in question and smiled a bit. "My little sister, Alexis. She came with me to the airport when I was deployed for the first time."

"Didn't know you had a sister," Jim said, studying the faces in the photo. They did look alike, though Alexis's hair was darker and her features more delicate. Their eyes were the same light blue, though, and you could clearly tell that they were related. "She looks like you."

"Yeah, I guess she does." Sebastian shrugged, looking back down at the pile of essays he was grading. "She's a lot younger than me, though, so people sometimes don't make the connection. I think she looks more like our Mum and I look more like our Dad."

Jim turned away from the photo and looked over at Sebastian. "You don't talk about your family much," he noted. Sebastian simply shrugged again. "There's not much to talk about. Mum died in a car accident when I was thirteen and Alexis was five. Dad never quite got over it." Sebastian stopped talking and clenched his jaw, which should have indicated to Jim not to press for more information, but Jim couldn't help it; he was curious. "Was he like mine?" he asked quietly.

Sebastian paused and looked up, meeting Jim's gaze before nodding and looking back down. "Minus the alcohol, yeah. He never touched Lex, though, I made sure of that."

Jim nodded and looked back down. "I'm sorry," he said after a bit, keeping his eyes cast down.

"You're sorry? What the hell for? It wasn't your fault."

"No, but I know how much it sucks. And it's not like you can ever get away from it. Family sticks with you, you know?"

Sebastian shrugged, looking up briefly and smiling, even though Jim couldn't see. "Still not your fault. Don't worry about it. And it's not always bad for family to stick around. Well, with Alexis it wasn't."

Jim looked up and smiled a bit when he saw Sebastian smiling. "Thanks."

"Any time," Sebastian said simply, turning back to the papers he was grading.

* * *

Jim was sitting in his differential calculus class the next day, which consisted of him and only five other seniors who had placed out of the regular math courses, when the headmaster came in. He whispered with the teacher for a few seconds before going and standing by the door.

"Moriarty," the teacher called, jerking his thumb towards the headmaster to indicate that Jim should leave. Jim sighed and got up, following the headmaster out into the corridor.

"Do you know why I've called you out of class, James?" the headmaster asked.

Jim paused a moment, thinking. "No, sir," he answered honestly. He'd been behaving himself recently; avoiding Powers, keeping his grades up, going to class. The headmaster, however, narrowed his eyes and glared at Jim. "Don't lie, Moriarty. The incident with Powers a few weeks ago?"

Jim had to resist the urge to laugh. "That? Sir, that was... Three weeks ago? Why are you coming to me now?"

"I'm coming to you now because I've just met with Powers and his parents, and they're all insisting that it must have been self-defense, because Powers never could have hurt anyone."

Jim clenched his jaw and stayed silent. Of course. Powers never got in any trouble at school, no matter what he did. He sighed and opened his mouth to speak when Sebastian came over and tapped the headmaster's shoulder.

"Everything alright, Dr. McCloud?" he asked, glancing between Jim and the headmaster.

"Well, Sebastian, remember the little incident you witnessed between James here and Carl Powers?"

Sebastian nodded, settling his hands on his hips. "Of course. Powers was beating Jim, plain and simple. Why?" Jim smirked a bit at Sebastian's description of the event, but the headmaster clearly didn't find it amusing.

"Because that's not how it happened," Dr. McCloud challenged, turning to fully face Sebastian now instead of Jim.

"But we both know it is," Sebastian countered. "It's about time Powers got punished for breaking a rule, anyways. Kid practically gets away with murder, and for what? 'Cause his parents are loaded? All due respect, sir, that's crap and we both know it."

Jim could've kissed the man after the look Sebastian's words caused on the headmaster's face. "Fine. You and Moriarty can come to a meeting with Powers and his parents tomorrow after school," Dr. McCloud said through clenched teeth, glaring at Sebastian, who was smirking. "I'll see you both then." With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and walked back down the hall, the soles of his shoes clipping against the floors.

Sebastian let out a chuckle when the headmaster was out of earshot and turned back to Jim. "'Bout time Powers got what he deserved," he said, shrugging. "You alright?"

"Yeah, 'course," Jim lied, smiling. He was terrified. He'd rather let Powers get away with everything than sit in a meeting with the headmaster and the Powers family, even if Sebastian would be there on his side. He turned without another word and walked down the hall, leaving Sebastian standing by the door. As soon as he turned a corner he sprinted, running down the hall to the bathroom and promptly getting sick. He half expected Sebastian to follow, but when he came out of the bathroom the corridor was empty. Shrugging, he walked back to class and sat down as though nothing had happened.


	7. Disappointing Results

**A/N: Hello! So, just to warn about triggers specific to this chapter, there's some homophobic and xenophobic slurs that are pretty nasty (I know, but the words are there for a reason. Trust me, I've thought about them.) as well as self-harm. Thanks everyone who continues to read this, you have no idea how much it means. As always, reviews are very much appreciated, whether they include unicorns and praise or criticism.**

* * *

Jim sat alone at a long in the school's only conference room, looking around nervously and trying to distract himself until the others showed up. The bell rang to signal the end of the school day and almost immediately Sebastian sprinted in, giving Jim a brief, tight-lipped smile and sitting down in the seat next to him. Jim smiled politely and quickly looked down, his leg bouncing nervously under the table. Sebastian didn't say anything, simply placed a steady hand over Jim's knee to still his leg.

"Thanks," he mumbled, keeping his eyes down and fighting to keep his legs still.

"Not a problem." Sebastian smiled again and gently squeezed Jim's leg before pulling his hand back and putting it in his lap.

The next person to enter the conference room was Dr. McCloud, almost immediately followed by Carl Powers and his parents. Mrs. Powers was dainty-looking; short and frail, with her head held high. Mr. Powers looked like his son; stocky build, beady eyes pressed close together, and a prominent jaw. Dr. McCloud sat down at the head of the table, and the Powerses took the three seats across from Jim and Sebastian, with Carl situated between his parents, smirking.

"Well," the headmaster started awkwardly, clearing his throat and shuffling some papers around on the table. "Thank you all for coming, I suppose. We're just here to clear up the small matter of what's been going on with Carl and James here." Mr. Powers scoffed, but Dr. McCloud continued. "Mr. Moran is here to vouch for James, and both James and Carl will get to speak for themselves. Fair?" Jim and Carl both nodded, though Jim kept his eyes on the table.

"Jim?" the headmaster prompted. "Care to start?"

Jim sighed and sat up straighter, glancing at the Powerses and Sebastian before directing his gaze back at the headmaster. "It's all what I've told you before. Carl's been bullying me for months, and one day Mr. Moran saw him. So now we're here." He shrugged and looked back down at the table.

There was a minute of silence before someone spoke up. "That's it?" Mr. Powers challenged. "That's why we're here? My son is having his name dragged through the mud and I'm having my time wasted by some faggot paddy who's only claim is that he's been pushed around a bit? Toughen up a grow a pair, then!"

Sebastian didn't hesitate to jump in and defend Jim. "With all due respect, Mr. Powers, Jim is perfectly within his right to call your son a bully based on what I've seen him do and heard come out of his mouth. Now I'm starting to see where he gets it. And I will not tolerate that kind of language, especially directed at a student. Now either excuse yourself or behave like a civilised adult."

Jim bit his tongue to hold back a smile, from both having Sebastian defend him like that and from the look on Mr. Powers' and Dr. McCloud's faces. "Well... I.. That's that, I suppose," the headmaster stammered, blushing and shuffling his papers again. "Yes, so, the accusation is that Carl here has been bullying James for quite some time. Carl, you obviously deny this, yes?"

Carl, of course, nodded and smiled innocently at Dr. McCloud. "Our boy could never hurt someone else," his mother insisted.

The headmaster nodded and went on about school policy and gay rights and tolerance for some time before he paused and sighed, looking at both of the boys. "Well, I simply don't have enough evidence to suspend Carl," he announced, to Carl's relief and Jim's horror. "So, Carl, you're free to go. You will be on a sort of probation, however, meaning that all teachers will be keeping a close eye on you and I'll hear about any misbehaviour. Thank you all." He quickly stood up and left the room, holding the door open for Mr. and Mrs. Powers.

Jim stayed slumped in his chair. He wasn't shocked; the Powers family donated a lot of money to the school and as such had a large influence over the headmaster. But still, Carl, at the very least, deserved some sort of punishment.

Sebastian had stood up and gone to the door, but waited when he realised that Jim was still sitting there. "Come on," he prompted gently. "Pizza at my place, yeah?"

Jim looked up and managed a smile, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine," he reassured, standing up and walking to the door. "I've got homework to do, anyways. I'll just go home."

Sebastian clenched his jaw to keep from sharing his opinion on that decision, but nodded nonetheless. "Right then. Door's always open if you need it."

Jim nodded silently and shoved his hands in his pockets, quickly walking up to his locker to get his bag and then out of the school.

* * *

Jim had been so proud of himself for going a whole three weeks without cutting, the longest he'd ever been able to go. But then the events of today had proved to be too much for him to handle, and now he was sitting against the bathroom door, staring at his razor blade.

This was stupid. This was all so unbelievably fucking stupid. He didn't have the guts to say anything and get Carl in proper trouble, and now that dick would be walking around the school without a care in the world while Jim still had to hide and try to keep himself safe. He felt worthless and stupid and he just wanted his brain to _stop_. Just for a few minutes. He wanted his brain to stop and he wanted to calm down. So he cut. In between old scars and down his right arm, watching the blood trickle along his pale skin. And it worked. His brain stopped and everything seemed quieter for a few glorious minutes._  
_

But then there was a loud bang from downstairs; the front door being slammed. Jim leapt to his feet and shoved the razor blade in his pocket, quickly wrapping a gauze bandage over the still-bleeding cuts on his arm. He sprinted into his room and frantically looked around, listening to the heavy footsteps getting closer and closer up the stairs. He frantically dug around his nightstand drawer until he found it: his mother's locket. He slipped it into the pocket that didn't hold the razor blade and cast one glance back at the door before climbing out of his window and down the drainpipe, landing with a soft _thump_ on the grass.

* * *

It took Jim a few minutes of wandering, but he finally managed to calm himself down enough so that he could show up to Sebastian's door without panicking his friend too much. He glanced around the street to make sure none of the neighbours were watching and tugged nervously on the sleeve of his school blazer. It still felt odd to be knocking on his teacher's door, even though he'd been doing it for weeks by now.

Sebastian answered the door almost immediately, and Jim had to hold back a grin at his friend's appearance. He'd changed out of the button-down, tie, and vest he'd been wearing at school into jeans and a t-shirt, and had taken out his contacts in favor of glasses.

"Hey," Jim mumbled, stepping inside and hanging his blazer up on the hooks by the door. "Does that offer of pizza still stand?"

"Yeah, always." Sebastian shut and locked the door before going over to the kitchen and starting to heat some leftover pizza up in the oven. Jim sighed softly and leaned against the counter, relaxing. Life was normal here. Peaceful. He didn't have to worry about hiding from his Dad or Powers, didn't have to worry about staying out of people's way. He could speak his mind and act for once like everything was normal and life was okay.

They ended up eating pizza on the sofa and watching Doctor Who, Jim's and Sebastian's favourite show.

"Matt Smith is far more attractive, Jim, I'm sorry," Sebastian argued, halfway through his third slice of pizza.

"You clearly have crap taste in men," Jim quipped, barely able to finish his first slice. "David Tennant is way better looking."

Sebastian merely scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning against the sofa and turning his attention back to the screen, and neither of them spoke for the rest of the episode. It was only when Sebastian sat up to reach for the remote and change the channel that he spoke.

"That meeting today was just shitty," Sebastian grumbled. "Can't believe that Powers gets to go free after treating you like that."

Jim shrugged, setting his plate down on the coffee table and leaning back against the sofa. "Yeah, I guess." He shrugged. "Whatever. Powers will get what's coming to him."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the sofa as well and turning to face his friend. "Sinister much?" he teased.

Jim chuckled, looking up at Sebastian. "He deserves some sort of punishment, no?"

Sebastian paused for a few moments before nodding, turning back to face the television. "Can't say I disagree."

Jim nodded and relaxed, resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder. "Good," he mumbled, closing his eyes and drifting off.


	8. No Questions

**A/N: *hides in corner* I'm so sorry.. I honestly had the worst case of writers' block known to man, and on top of that, school sucks. But here's the chapter, and that's what matters. Thanks to those of you who sent me messages asking if I was continuing this story, it gave me something to write for, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it. And no, this isn't the end just yet.**

**Massive trigger warnings in this chapter, specifically for depression, SI, and suicidal thoughts. (Is that a spoiler? I dunno, I'm more concerned about pointing out the triggers.) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Life became a living hell for Jim after Carl was freed from any and all blame. It had only been two days since the meeting, and already Carl had no restraint when in came to assaulting Jim in the corridors at school. He would knee Jim between classes, slam him against teacher's doors during lunch, and kick him down to the pavement as soon as the final bell rang. The only teacher who intervened was Sebastian, who would go so far as to physically restrain Carl to keep Jim safe.

After a couple of weeks, it got to the point where Jim was scared to come to school. He would come to first period late, avoid the corridors in between classes, and hide in Sebastian's room during the lunch period and for several minutes after school to try and keep himself safe. He stayed in the back of the room with headphones on while Sebastian met with students to go over tests and essays, earbuds in his ears and book in his hands.

He came into the empty classroom and sat down in the back as he usually did, though he grabbed a box of Kleenex on his way to help stop the blood that was still trickling from his newly-broken nose. Sebastian frowned when he saw Jim and stood, walking over to the teenager's desk.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, tilting Jim's chin up so he could inspect the damage.

Jim sighed in frustration and pulled away, quickly looking back down at his book. "Leave me alone," he grumbled. "I'm fine."

"For Christ's sake, Jim!" Sebastian snapped. "You're clearly not fucking fine! Was it Powers again?"

Jim slammed his book shut and quickly stood up, glaring at Sebastian. "I said leave me alone," he snapped, turning sharply on his heel and storming out of the classroom. Sebastian sighed and went back to his desk, letting his head fall into his hands.

* * *

Three weeks after Carl broke Jim's nose, Jim came storming into Sebastian's classroom after school, shouting at the top of his lungs. "I'm done!" he declared. "I'm fucking done! I'm so unbe-fucking-lievably done with all of this!"

Sebastian, wide-eyed, immediately closed the door behind his raving student. He went over to Jim and slowly put a hand on his shoulder, wary of anything that might upset him.

"Jim," he said quietly. "What's wrong?"

Jim's breathing picked up and he flinched away from Sebastian instinctively. "I'm just... done," he repeated, quieter this time. "I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" Sebastian prompted, obviously concerned. "Jim, please, tell me what's wrong?"

Jim shook his head and took a few deep breaths to calm himself, trying desperately to stop trembling. "It's... I just," he stammered, the words getting stuck in his mouth. "Hafta go. I've gotta.. I have to go."

"Oh, hell no." Jim took a step to the side to try and get around Sebastian, but the taller simply blocked him again. "Jim, you can't leave until you tell me what's wrong. Please, I jut want to help."

All Jim could do was shake his head again, the trembling now taking over his body. "Can't," he repeated, feeling tears sting at his eyes and his breathing get faster and faster. "Can't." All Sebastian could think to do was squeeze his friend's arm gently, letting him know that he was there, but at the same time giving Jim room to breathe.

Jim's breathing got exponentially faster every second. His heart was racing and he could feel the room spinning, feel himself losing control. He tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat and came out as short breaths. Unable to do anything else, he hugged himself tight and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make it all stop. Sebastian's heart sank, watching Jim in the grips of a panic attack and not being able to do anything to help his friend.

"I um.. I have to..," Jim stammered a few moments later, his voice catching in his throat and his eyes starting to sting. He turned and sprinted out of the classroom, tore down the halls, and left school.

He ran all the way home, tears rushing down his face. He forced open the front door to his house and bolted up the stairs, slamming the door to his room behind himself and locking it. He searched frantically around his room and bathroom, digging up old razors, pills, bottles of vodka, anything. He finally found some of sleeping pills that his Dad used to take and a couple razors he'd kept hidden in his mattress. Finally, he'd be done with everything. He'd get some peace, some rest. Finally.

He stood and was about to walk into the bathroom when his phone went off, buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Sebastian's number flashing across the screen.

"H-Hello?" he stammered, his voice cracking from how tight his throat was.

"Jim?" Sebastian asked, concern evident in his voice. "Hey. I just.. You left and I was worried."

Jim let out a quiet, broken, hysterical laugh and blinked to get the tears out of his eyes. "You're a worrier," he teased, clearing his throat.

Sebastian managed a quiet chuckle, but the concern didn't leave his voice. "You give me reason to worry. Are you okay, Jim? Look, why don't you come over? No questions, I promise. Just food and crap telly. What was that show you wanted to watch? Something about brothers and ghosts? We'll watch it. Just come over, Jim, please." Sebastian was rambling now, venting to get out his worry. Jim stayed quiet, his lower lip still trembling as he looked down at the pills and razors in his hand. He closed his eyes and felt a few more tears spill down his cheeks before he took a breath and finally responded.

"Yeah, I'm on my way."

He shut off his phone and put everything back, splashed some cold water on his face, grabbed his coat, and walked back out to go to Sebastian's flat. Just as he'd promised, Sebastian didn't ask any questions. They ordered Thai and watched Supernatural, having arguments over which brother was hotter. Jim smiled and laughed where it was appropriate, but he could still feel the hole inside of his chest, clawing away at him. Sebastian didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't comment on it.

Around midnight, after Sebastian had gone to bed and Jim was lying on the sofa, he had a realisation. _It's me or Powers_, Jim decided. _And I sure as hell don't want it to be me._


	9. Repercussions (part one)

**A/N: A fair warning, I cried while writing this chapter. Special trigger for cancer in this one, as well as self harm, suicidal thoughts, and murder. God, I need to start writing fluff.**

**Also, this is part one of this chapter. Part two will be up soon, I promise :)**

* * *

_"A young boy today drowned in the pool at a school sports tournament. Carl Powers, champion swimmer, had come up to London from Brighton to compete in today's events."_

_"It seems he had a fit in the water and drowned. By the time they got him out, doctors say, it was too late."_

_"No reports of any pre-existing medical conditions."_

_"Family friends plead for his parents' privacy."_

_"Carl was set to graduate at the end of this school year. He was eighteen years old."_

Sebastian shut off the television, but didn't turn to look at Jim, who sat huddled at the end of his sofa. "Wh-what you said yesterday," he stammered when he finally worked up the ability to speak. "Christ, Jim, I didn't think you'd _do_ it."

Jim shrugged and rubbed his sleeve over his cuts, trying to distract himself. "I.. It's survival," he started, but he was quickly cut off.

"No, Jim," Sebastian shouted, turning to face his student. "Reporting him is survival. Switching schools is survival. Killing him?! _Killing_, James. You have killed a man, James. No, you've killed a _kid_." Jim didn't speak, simply kept his eyes down and waited for it to be over. Sebastian kept shouting, but Jim just tuned him out, closing his eyes and pressing hard on the sleeve of his jumper. The hole in his chest had only been growing bigger and bigger in the week that he'd waited, and he finally felt like he'd managed to close it when he saw Carl spasming in the water, but now Sebastian was just ripping it back open.

"James, are you even listening to me?" Sebastian asked, shoving Jim's shoulder. Jim flinched and curled inwards before recognising that it was Sebastian and that he wasn't going to get hurt. "I-I," he stammered. "James, come on," Sebastian prompted. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that it's him or me, Seb," Jim snapped, turning to face his friend. "I was thinking that I was scared to come to school and scared to be at home so where the hell was I safe? I was thinking.. I was thinking that maybe I'd be safe if I died. But then you fucking came along and I thought maybe someone might care. So the only way to be safe was for him to go." He was shouting, despite his voice breaking and tears starting to come into his eyes. In his shouting, he hadn't noticed the sleeves of his too-big jumper sliding down and showing the rows upon rows of angry cuts and scars that littered his right arm.

"J-Jim," Sebastian said quietly, reaching a hand forward. Jim started to snap back at him when he noticed his arm and quickly grabbed it back, tugging down the sleeve. "Fell through a window," he lied quickly. Sebastian shook his head, holding an arm out silently. Jim sighed and slowly held out his arm, letting Sebastian push up his sleeves.

"Why?" Sebastian whispered, looking up at Jim with tear-filled eyes. "Jim.. I didn't... I couldn't even tell.."

Jim simply shrugged, going numb inside. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Sebastian scoffed and shook his head, gently wiping away a trickle of blood from a cut that had re-opened with Jim's rubbing on it. "It matters. These aren't nothing, mate," he said softly. "It's... You've been hurting, and I haven't been helping." He shook his head again and wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jimmy..."

Jim shrugged again, swallowing thickly when he felt a lump in his throat. "I said it doesn't matter, Seb. Please, just leave it... You don't have to care, okay?"

"You think I'm doing this because I have to?" Sebastian asked in disbelief, looking up at his friend. "Jim, come on. I wouldn't be risking my job by having you here if I didn't genuinely care about you." Jim didn't say anything, didn't even move this time. So Sebastian sighed and kept talking, wrapping his arms around his friend in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes and hugging Jim close. "About Carl, about everything. I should've noticed, should've done more."

Jim stayed silent for a while, his face pressed into Sebastian's chest. "Please don't hate me," he begged after a few minutes. For once, he sounded vulnerable. Less of the brave teenager Sebastian had become so accustomed to hearing. Jim sounded like a little kid. Scared, confused, and needing someone to comfort him. Sebastian smiled softly and shook his head. "I don't hate you, Jimmy. I couldn't."

Jim nodded, swallowing again and wiping his eyes. He hated crying, and he certainly wouldn't cry in front of Sebastian. "Thanks," he mumbled, lifting his head up to look at his friend. "Means, um.. Means a lot." He cleared his throat and sat up, glancing around. "So... What now?"

Sebastian laughed and shrugged, turning and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "Keep you out of jail, I guess," he answered honestly. Jim managed a small laugh and nodded. "Yeah, that'd be nice," he joked. He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, hiding a wince of discomfort when he tugged on a muscle around a bruised rib. "Mind if I crash here tonight? I'd rather not go home."

"Not at all," Sebastian said, taking a swig of beer and turning the television back on. He forced himself to pretend that things were still normal, like nothing had happened. "Hell, you're here so damn much, might as well live here."

Jim raised an eyebrow, looking at his friend. "Think so?" Sebastian nodded and shrugged. "Might be nice having a flatmate," he said, glancing over at Jim. "If you weren't still living with your Dad." Jim shrugged. "I don't know if I'll be there much longer," he admitted, pulling out his Mam's locket and gently running his fingers over it.

"You do get to go to uni soon," Sebastian pointed out. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Jim pull out the locket. "What's that?"

Jim blushed and slid it back into his pocket. "It um.. It was Mam's," he explained quietly. "I kept it after she died."

Sebastian nodded understandingly. "What happened to her?" he asked, watching Jim's reaction carefully. "You don't have to tell me if you don't.. If you're not comfortable with that."

Jim shrugged, looking down and picking at his fingernails. "She got cancer when I was six," he started quietly. "We were still living in Ireland. Nobody told me this till years later, but it was terminal right from the start. She um.. She died a few months later. My Dad wasn't there, it was just me and her. I-I remember holding her hand and she told me she loved me one last time, I think she knew it was happening. The monitor.. It flatlined, and the nurse tried to pull me off her, but I wouldn't go." He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, forcing himself not to cry. "Dad never came to see her. And he wouldn't let me say goodbye at her funeral. We moved a week later, so I-I never got to say goodbye to her." He hiccuped and took in a shaky breath, running his fingers over her locket again. "Goddamnit, I miss her, Seb... I really fucking miss her."

Sebastian simply sat silently, listening and forcing himself not to cry. "Oh, Jim," he whispered, hugging his friend close again and holding him while he cried. "God, I'm so sorry... I'm so so sorry..."

Jim cried until he physically couldn't any more, finally letting himself get it all out and be comforted. It was oddly relieving to tell someone, yet at the same time so terrifying to feel vulnerable like that. Sebastian left when Jim asked him to, giving his friend time alone. Jim collapsed into a little ball and feel asleep sobbing, curled up in a ball on the sofa with his sneakers still on.


End file.
